A Loyal Dog
by brilliantmemories
Summary: Al Mualim knows that Malik is getting suspicious of his plot and his motives, so he manipulates the only man he knows is right for the assassination. Altaïr finds himself wrapped up in his Master's words and his own feelings. *Altair/Malik, oneshot


**A/N:** Hey! I'm alive, guys! Really! Okay, so I started this in December, got a quarter way through it then got bored. But tonight, I was in a writing mood and I really wanted to get something done. So here's a treat, some altmal for you guys. I know some of you guys are patiently waiting for No One Knows (don't worry, I'm back at writing it!), so this may be a disappointment... But you should read anyways! I'm extremely proud of this one.

So, that was quick, but I hope you enjoy this! Because I like it a lot more than I thought I would. And besides, Altair/Malik is where it all started.

* * *

_**A Loyal Dog**_

"Very well done, Altaïr. You never fail to meet my expectations," Al Mualim said nonchalantly, his back turned to the assassin as usual.

The Master stared out the giant window, watching the smooth movements of the birds as they soared with true freedom under their spanned wings. Altaïr had begun his mission; killing nine key figures throughout the land and had already successfully taken out three of those targets. Al Mualim was impressed with how the man was handling the rank he had been dropped to. Altaïr had took it at first with rage and denial but gradually, he fell into his simple routine that he had once used when he was a novice.

"Thank you, Master," Altaïr responded with grace as he walked forth towards the desk, ready to claim his next rank.

"Three of the nine lay dead, this is excellent news. Your progress is coming along much faster than I had anticipated, Altaïr," he replied solemnly, turning around to regard Altaïr with his piercing blue eyes, lips tight in a solid line.

"Thank you, Master but, if I may... I have a question to ask of," Altaïr bit his tongue, wondering if he had gone too far. His Master merely raised an eyebrow and stared at him with curious eyes.

"Well, do ask, Altaïr. Seeking knowledge puts an assassin at a great advantage over those who he faces, making them more powerful in the end." Altaïr soaked this in as he worded the question in his head, remembering Talal's last words.

"You had told me - I am not challenging your words, Master – that Talal had been selling slaves to fight but when I had confronted him after our fight... He said the opposite. Spoke of doing good for the land and saving the slaves instead of hurting them-"

"Altaïr! That is enough foolishness I have heard from you. Why would you believe the words of those who are trying to wipe out us, my child? These Templars are men who must be stopped in order for us to prevent them from taking over The Holy Land. Do not believe these men and their foolish last breath lies, Altaïr, you are a better man than that."

Altaïr felt his cheeks burn with humiliation.

"Take note, my son, that a man's dying words are the least honest of any he has ever spoken in his lifetime. This goes for most men outside of Masyaf. They are liars, cheaters and mostly, people who do not deserve the life they have been given. In the end, it is best that they have been taken from this world and sent to their proper placing. Templars are out to ruin us, not to create controversy when they are pillaging and killing people for all the wrong reasons. We do not kill, we cleanse. Now, Altaïr, you may move onto your next target with your new rank. Do us well, for failure does not suit our creed."

Without another word, Altaïr nodded and grabbed the throwing knives off the table, which were clearly for his taking. Tossing one up into the air, he caught it on its fall by the handle and sheathed it along with the others. Just as he turned his back on Al Mualim, his Master's voice rang out with words he thought he would never hear from him.

"Tell me about Malik, Altaïr."

Slowly, Altaïr turned around to face Al Mualim, their eyes meeting with a fierce intensity that the assassin regretted. Grinding his teeth, Altaïr glanced to the left, trying to think of how to phrase his next sentence.

"He is still furious about my acts in Solomon's Temple, Master. He is not going to forgive me anytime soon and I feel that his actions are reasonable for what I have done." Altaïr spoke without a tone of annoyance, but deep down inside, he remembered how malicious Malik's words had been back at the Jerusalem bureau. Something had been ruined between them and he didn't know if they could ever go back to where they were before.

"I see. Altaïr, there is something I have been meaning to tell you," Al Mualim spoke in a sombre tone, turning around so he would be able to keep his composure.

"What is it, Master?"

There was a heavy silence in the room and all Altaïr could hear were his own strong heartbeats, one after the other.

"I believe Malik is conspiring with the Knights Templars."

A sudden lump formed in Altaïr's throat, making speech nearly impossible. "And... what evidence do you have... for this... accusation?"

"Do not question me, Altaïr, for I have my reasons behind my thoughts. After Solomon's Temple, he had managed to escape with his life, but his brother's had been taken. He returned alive, Altaïr. Alive after being surrounded by as you had said, five, strong Templar men." Al Mualim finally turned around, watching Altaïr's lips twist into a scowl, the words processing through his mind. "Then soon enough, there was that assault brought on by Robert de Sable. I had believed it was another man trading letters but the more I muse about the timing, I have come to believe that Malik had traded our whereabouts for his life."

"Why Malik?" Altaïr felt his head pound with just the idea of his friend having betrayed the brotherhood.

"I have come to the realization that he is after you, Altaïr. He wants you down; forever he has been in your shadows and been wanting to break free of them. But while you are around with the Assassins, he cannot shine the way he desires. Only within the Templars can he find fame within their dark minds by handing us, their enemies, to them on a silver platter. He is willing to betray and kill us all for his own selfish satisfaction, Altaïr. Can you let him do this to us? Or can you stop it before any more damage is done?"

With a strange, heavy heart, Altaïr didn't understand. Why Malik? Other than the obvious reasons Al Mualim had stated, he was completely loyal to the creed. He had grown up alongside of Altaïr and even though he showed contempt, it did not mean that he wished to take down a whole guild.

"Altaïr. Do you understand what I am asking of you? I will only ask you once, because I believe that you know how to answer this." He knew exactly what his Master was asking of him. Kill Malik to protect the brotherhood. It was reasonable, not hard at all. Malik hated Altaïr, there wasn't a single doubt about that. He blamed the assassin for all his loses, not once feeling the guilt himself – or so Altaïr assumed.

"Yes, Master."

"Yes what, Altaïr?" Altaïr watched as Al Mualim turned to the window, picking up a beautiful, long white feather that was ready to be coated in the blood of a traitor.

"I shall carry out this assassination and I will report back to you after I have completed it. Nothing is true, everything is permitted." He felt his hand out for the feather, holding his Master's sharp gaze. When the feather slid into his hand, he hid it in his robes before turning around without another word. He would be in Jerusalem by night fall. No stops and he would pick only the best and strongest horse to take for the journey.

"Be on your way, Altaïr, may God be with you. And do not forget my words or else all Hell may break lose at the end."

The city was bustling as usual, peasants and guards running amuck like headless chickens.

There was too much going on for anyone to notice the dreary Assassin making his way through the crowd, knives and blades obvious to the naked eye. Although this wasn't the busiest the city could be, considering nightfall had draped its cold and dark self over the sky. A full moon hung in the distance and Altaïr only regarded it for a moment before someone bumped into him, snapping the assassin back to what was in front of him. Taking a small turn, Altaïr found himself in a quiet, isolated alley that he could move freely in. It was only just a small walk to bureau now and Altaïr, for the first time in years, had to mentally prepare himself for this assassination. It wasn't like any of the others – no, he had an emotional (strong, if he may add) tie to this man. Their lives were almost one, having grown up together ever since Altaïr had found himself in the walled in city of Masayf. His memories were hazy but he had remembered the first night he had spent in Malik's bed. It had felt so weird. But so right. Altaïr had never received any sorts of affection and to have Malik brush their lips together, it was something of a shock to the Master Assassin. But of course, that relationship was no more. Love was replaced by hatred, the lust to kiss faded into the desire to kill.

In a way, killing Malik, he would be destroying a piece of himself. But nevertheless, he would carry through even if it tore his soul in half.

Coming up to the building, he grabbed a ledge and hauled himself up, feeling his body stretch with the small climb. It was nice, getting his muscles to warm up and flex as he pushed himself up onto the bureau's roof. As quietly as he could, he dropped through the entrance, wondering why it hadn't been closed yet. Altaïr had been expecting to wait until early morning to do his job but now he had the luxury of doing it sooner. It meant less time to think about what he was going through with, for he knew that he would find a way to pull out of it. With a silent thud, he landed on the hard ground, all of his senses heightened as he listened for any sign of movement or presence. He heard nothing.

Crouching slightly, he began to move to the door, his footsteps as light as a feather. He didn't make a sound as he found himself standing in the doorframe, his body completely tensed and ready for a fight. But instead, he was met with the sight of Malik curled up on a set of woven cushions, a dim candlelight flickering beside him. The glow illuminated his face, showing that he was asleep, eyes closed as he lied still, completely vulnerable for Altaïr to strike. Slowly, his nimble fingers went to the daggers hanging from his robes. His palm grasped around the thin handle, curling his steady digits around the cold metal. As he moved closer, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest louder and louder, almost like a drumming noise.

As he got closer, towering over the defenceless assassin, Altaïr knew he couldn't do it.

Before he knew what happened, the wind was pushed out of his lungs as he felt a boot jab into his stomach, causing Altaïr to stumble back. The pain blossomed for a moment before he caught his breath, eyes widening as he watched Malik jump up. He could see that he had frightened the man, that he had suspected he was someone else. An enemy.

Once their eyes met, Malik's shoulders relaxed slightly – but not by much. "What in God's name are you doing, Altaïr?" His voice was groggy but Altaïr could hear the malice in his sharp tone.

"I have merely come to visit you, brother. How are you feeling now?"

"Do not think me for a fool, Altaïr." Malik hissed through tightly clenched teeth, feeling his senses return to him after his long nap. "You are not the sort of man to come and... 'comfort' me so. You are far too distant to reach out to me like that, especially as you are enjoying your rest at this time of the night. What are your ulterior motives, _novice_?"

Altaïr couldn't help but snap back. "Do not call me a novice, Malik. I am far from that." Quickly, he regained his composure. "I have come to carry out an... assassination for Al Mualim." He had to get to the point or else Malik might tear him down with his words before Altaïr could tear into his flesh with his dagger.

"Oh really now? Tell me, Altaïr – will the bells of the city sound once again to the ears of all citizens dwelling within Jerusalem's walls? Will the guards cry for the culprit as you cower in my bureau, waiting for the danger to fade away? I am awaiting the day where you do not carry out your assassination so recklessly, costing us-" Instantly, before Altaïr knew what he was doing, Malik was silenced, his eyes widening in shock as Altaïr moved against him. The two assassins were against the wall, both trembling as they felt their lips against each other's, a dam breaking as Altaïr closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in his life. Gripping the dagger, he let his conscience consume him as he instantly flicked his right wrist roughly, burying the dagger into Malik's abdomen right up to the hilt of his now tainted knife.

Malik's body went rigid as he felt the pain shoot through him as his only arm gripped at the material of Altaïr's robes, fingers twisting around it. "A- Altaïr... What... I-I do not... understand..." His words were breathless and it was the first time Altaïr had ever heard that condescending manner sound so scared and clueless.

"You have betrayed the brotherhood, Malik... We could not let this continue any further." He didn't falter as he pulled the blade out, letting his lover's blood fall between them. He knew he had hit him in the right spot, as much as he wished he wouldn't have. The front of Altaïr's robes were now stained a cruel red, something that he could wash out in the river banks but his hands... his hands would be forever stained. "I never expected it to end like this. I was hoping we could rise up together to this new world, cleansed of the Templars but you had to do this. Am I the foolish one, Malik?" Altaïr pulled back, examining his victim's expression contorted with pain, tears running down his pale cheeks as he began to stagger slightly.

"... I-I have not betrayed the brotherhood... I would never... never even _think_ of such a thing...! You fool! I fought for everything that I-" Malik coughed as he knees gave out beneath him and before he crashed to the ground, Altaïr caught him. Cradling him gently in his arms, he slowly set the dai to the cushions, stroking his cheek as he watched as the man struggled against his death. It was obvious to Altaïr that he was fighting a losing battle. "I fought it out of S-Solomon's so... so I could see y-you again... The only thing I-I had left, Altaïr..."

Guilt cascaded over Altaïr and clawed at his heart as the man's raspy voice echoed in his ringing ears. "No... Malik... Do not say things like that."

"T-Too late, novice... They have reached your ears and now... now you must carry the weight on your shoulders... like I had for those first f-few weeks... Altaïr... I... I loved-" Malik gasped mid-sentence as his eyes closed, ragged breathing coming to a gradual stop.

"Malik..? Malik! No! There is so much more I want to hear!" He shook him gently, trying to stir him from his dark slumber. Reckless emotions stirred in Altaïr as he took a deep breath, feeling his icy self-control begin to sink in. Clinging onto Malik's last words, he pulled out the feather, gently soaking up Malik's blood before he stowed it back away, his heart heavy with regret. It was over. Nothing could be done now. With shaking legs, he managed to stand upright. He deserved a proper burial – or at least, he did before he had betrayed the Assassins. He wasn't one of them anymore. Someone else could do it when they found him the next day.

'_Take note, my son, that a man's dying words are the least honest of any he has ever spoken in his lifetime.'_

Putting out the candle, Altaïr slipped into the bitter darkness of Jerusalem - his mind filled with lies and a pocket heavy with innocent blood.


End file.
